Poem of the North

A brilliant idea – take a bunch of poems about the North, and weave them into a magic carpet -then invent a new verse form on the way.

I’m proud to be a part of it – and you can watch the magic carpet unfold here:

https://poemofthenorth.co.uk/canto/canto-1/

 

Landscape with figure

One of everything-
a lake, a ruin
and a man, waiting.

Nothing moves.
Clouds, huddled together,
hold the pose. The empty road
waits. The trees are still

waiting for you.

You could always climb in
through the frame.
It would be easy
like crossing a stile.

Then you could feel
the wind brushing your face,
watch clouds drift in the light air,
welcome the man
striding up the road towards you.

 

Enjoyed that ? Try this York

 

 

York

 

When I am dead I shall come back
to this place
and watch
Tom’s black cat leap from the roof line in King’s Square
and curl in the baker’s doorway, purring.

I shall come back
to this place
and listen
to the trees in Dean’s Close
applauding themselves;
to the flat pavement slap of feet at noon,
to the tumbling drunks at midnight
to the Minster bell.

I shall stand
with the long dead
listening to wild geese pass
in the darkness.

We shall wait in the shadows
for the first gleam of sunrise
to tip the Minster tower.

When I am dead
I shall come back
to this place
foregoing heaven.